the void
my muscles are heavy with need.
i whisper into the void
still too quiet for you to avoid
all i want is for you
to walk into my poem
let to swirl and whirl around you
perhaps sneak into your ear
work its way into your subconscious
then one day you will start to randomly
think about me
and love
then connect the two
and with a thundering shout
you will run back to me
your muscles heavy with need.
Ariel
life
Life is broken,
like kindling stacked and ready for the match
Have I wasted my life, my home
just waiting for you?
I have gotten too used to
living in the dark
and the cold,
like tundra nights.
I am a cork, waterlogged, in the vast ocean;
We measure our time by our spinning.
I got you to tremble with lust.
Doves, all around us.
Ariel
earth
let me plant my feet deep and send out roots
let me grow yellow-green leaves this spring
and soak up the warming sun
we are living in this liminal time
before humans burn our mother up
let me disavow them, step away
and nuzzle back into the earth
be her child once again.
Ariel
last six words
You say you’re a bear but I think a boar
a cowboy looking to collar “a filly”
using a bit of flair.
Dude,
women don’t care how many greenbacks
you pull; this isn’t The Wild West.
they want self-determination and respect.
Ariel
draft
Why I’m Still Living
1: I would do anything to spend
time with my witty son. Even endure
sickness and a body of pain.
to hear his voice laugh and tease
give him two rooms, one for sleeping, one for waking
I live to see him stride across the local stage
and I must live to protect him from the snake who attacks without warning,
I must ensure his survival
2: and of course there are my furry cats
3: siblings
4: there is art. and bubbles. trees. grass. daffodils. lilacs. plums. soft fabrics. hot baths. scented candles. there is electricity. piped water. toilets and toilet paper. phones, computers and internet. instant communication. mail that comes. i have purple sheets and blankets. pillows. scented candles. wood fire. a curved couch. money. food. poet friends. art friends, music friends. theater friends. movies. a pool.
last: there’s an infinitesimal chance
you may show up at my door
(you remember where that is)
and give in to your desire.
Ariel
draft
panic
there are invisible bugs crawling on my skin
phantom boa constrictor around chest
my mind in a thousand dank caves all at once
how can I find myself
my hands slither over each other like a clutch of worms
my hair falls, trying to shield my eyes from seeing, well, everything
my arms reach out, come back empty
how can I live like this
Ariel
draft
haunted
You’re either a poet or a poem.
I’m a poet
and you my poem.
you hunt my hours.
the ticking of the clock is your breaths,
they echo in my heavy breast.
your hunting whispers to me
a seductive heavy exhale.
oh, merman, you murmur a hunting siren
the ocean amplifies it until it is a foghorn
and the only safe shore is the rocks
your hunting are waves that drown me
then raises me to air and words.
I am a fish and you a monger
I am a poet and you my fish
I am your poem and you are hunting.
Ariel
draft
The Devil And Me
(after Ira Wolf)
I’m not a superhero, though I wish to be.
It’s weird when you wake up to The Others just under that first layer of skinand they are claw, clawing to get out, and you hope that your skin is metal like Colossus to keep them from escaping and adamantium bones to keep them from breaking you inside. But you know you’re no superhero, just a child grown who had to raise herself. Certainly not a Jean Gray. Well, maybe a weather witch. For you make the gray clouds roll in and you hear the thunder roll with all the voices in it shouting over each other. Or maybe it’s the fighting fiddles. The flavor of blood-stained brimstone on the tongue.
And you can’t think.
My mother thought me lost to The Devil. Evil she must purge.
I know what it’s like to be dead.
You know part of it is in your genes. The ones you got from Her mother. But then if I was stuck on an isolated Arkansas farm, I would give in to the voices too, embrace them, escape with them to run away from the fields and crops. At least I think that was her origin story. I think anyone would go mad with the isolation of a farm.
I was lost yesterday, today I ground (grind?) myself with music. Hope the fiddles make sense and hope the devils work with me. I hope to walk through everything, phase, merge. Run away to the forest. It a Pac NW thing. Find a river running red as whiskey. Talk to plants like Poison Ivy. Dance with two left feet around a campfire. Wrap the devils in my webs.
I’m no superhero. I’m no villain either.
Ariel
draft
form, anti-form
breeze sends white
blossoms drifting down
like winter.
the sky is
blue, clouds let in the sun. yet
cats huddle inside.
with a hot mug to sip from
i long for summer’s warmth,
to lay in the sun and let it bake me.
live wearing as few layers
as possible.
Ariel
draft
stained glass
weighted down base, rippling.
tall art novoeu stalk
holds up a reverse tulip.
multi-colored glass formed
into a bell, lilies thin as skin.
protecting the delicate light
bulb. when it’s on it, it glows,
sending vibrant rainbows everywhere.
wooden chair sits three feet from the television.
Ariel
draft
middle
passion month
and the pink moon
is halved in the ink of it.
my honey breast is going places
looking for its north star,
hoping against hope it never moves.
this spring rhythm; again it shimmies
through my skin like a creature
emerging from thawed hibernation;
i wake, i breathe, i write.
i long for your embrace
the silliness of it, like minor falls
and major lifts.
Ariel
draft
essential angel
a gentle love of a familiar, ache
after him almost another day.
a drunk, who hungers
between blaze and ground,
soak there your heart –
an imagined bouquet
kept sacred between a season of snow
& winter, a lesser nature of air.
oh beautiful woman, he inspires
a freeze of river, whispers during night.
Ariel
Draft
Nine wounds of Frida
from The Wounded Deer by Frida Kalho
Was she the woodland creature
or the fallen branch we overlook
Same difference,
she was lost among the trees
And could only follow the water line
back towards herself,
horns and all.
Ariel
Sorry; life still throwing some curve balls at me … I’ll get more timely on posting these prompts
Today’s prompt is Edgar Allan Poe’s “They who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night.” Continue reading “Jan 27 prompt”
Posting early …
Today’s prompt is “She never looked nice. She looked like art, and art wasn’t supposed to look nice; it was supposed to make you feel something.” Continue reading “Jan 26 prompt”
Sorry – I’ve had guests today …
Today’s prompt is “Give yourself some credit for how far you’ve come.” Continue reading “Jan 25 prompt”
A late morning today,
Friday’s prompt is CS Lewis’ “There are far far better things ahead than any we leave behind.” Continue reading “Jan 24 prompt”
Today’s prompt is Karen Lamb’ “A year from now you’ll wish you had started today.” Continue reading “Jan 23 prompt”
Sorry – Tuesday was so grueling and had me so worn out – I didn’t wake up until late afternoon today. But let’s do this!
Wednesday’s prompt is Kate Moss’ “It’s kind of rebellious to be yourself”.” Continue reading “Jan 22 prompt”
Today’s prompt is “Life always offers you a second chance. It’s called “tomorrow”.” Continue reading “Jan 21 prompt”
Today’s prompt is John C. Maxwell’s “Dreams don’t work unless you do.” Continue reading “Jan 20 prompt”
Today’s prompt is “Hey, flower child … It’s your time to bloom.” Continue reading “Jan 19 prompt”
Today’s prompt is Thomas Edison’s “If we did all the things we are capable of, we would astound ourselves.” Continue reading “Jan 18 prompt”
Today’s prompt is Theodore Roethke’s “Deep in their roots, all flowers keep the light.” Continue reading “Jan 17 prompt”
Late – I had some paperwork to take care of. Finished so I’m catching u[.
Today’s prompt is Pablo Picasso’s “Everything you can imagine is real.” Continue reading “Jan 16 prompt”
nwpoetariel
Ariel, Pacific NW poet 